


The Ice is Getting Thinner

by shakeitout



Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Carolina Hurricanes, M/M, Original Character(s), equipment manager
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakeitout/pseuds/shakeitout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one AU where Cam Ward blows out his knee early in his AHL career and becomes the Canes equipment manager. He subsequently falls in love with Eric Staal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title stolen from a Death Cab for Cutie song
> 
> un'betaed and this is my first ever Canes fic!
> 
> Hand waiving at the fact that Cam Ward didn’t play for the Checkers…it was just much easier to write him in this way rather than explaining that he played for an AHL team that went through 4 different names and was owned by the Islanders, then the Kings, then the Canes, then the Flames, then the Avalanche, and now the Devils. And Johnny Boychuk really was on the farm-team with Cam in ‘05, so at least I got that right. I have no idea if they were actually friends, but I mean I love Johnny so I ran with it (Go Bruins!) Also, you should probably just hand wave EVERYTHING that is totally wrong and not even close to real life in this fic. I Googled to the best of my ability, so uh, let’s chalk this entire fic up to creative liberties and all that. Feedback or help with all the things I don’t know about their lives are both lovingly drooled on.
> 
>  
> 
> Side note: can we just talk about how I was NOT in the right state of mind when I wrote this and it came out bomb. Uhh, write drunk, edit sober I guess?

      That flashy forward whose last name most definitely started with an A on the Wolfpack was on a breakaway, gaining speed towards Cam late in the third period. Cam could read this guy like a book. He could read his move, and knew that he was going to try short side high, only when Cam went to move to make the save, something snapped. The puck flipped into the goal behind him, and Cam started to collapse and clutch his knee. Flashy-Forward-Whose-Name-Cam-Still-Can’t-Remember blew an edge, and knocked into Cam right as he was going down, causing Cam’s mask to fly off and his body to slam onto the ice. He blacked out for a literally second, and then the pain ripped through him as he held in his screams. He was a hockey player, God damn it, he was going to keep it together. The trainers immediately flew out onto the ice, and began trying to get a look at the damage while gently removing Cam’s pads.

      The team staff would later tell him that because it was unseasonably hot, even for Carolina in late spring, and so the building staff was having insane difficulty temperature controlling the rink. The ice was getting soft toward the end of the game, and Cam’s skate must have gotten caught in a divot when he moved to block the shot; his body going one way, his knee going the other. He tore his ACL, MCL, and a whole bunch of ligaments he doesn’t even remember the name for all at once. His kneecap displaced, and the cartilage was gone. To say he blew his knee out was an understatement; Cam Ward, the up and coming goalie in the Carolina Hurricanes farm system _shredded_ his left knee, and he was done. He knew it as soon as he woke up in the hospital; his career was over. Not to mention that his head was also throbbing, and the hospital staff would later tell Cam that he needed to be tested for a concussion, due to the pure force from when his mask flew off and his head hit the ice.

 

      Cam’s recovery process did not go as planned. The higher ups of the Charlotte Checkers came to Cam once he was sent home from the hospital, lucid enough to explain the ramifications of his injury. Basically this is what Cam got out of it: He hurt all the things a goalie needs, his recovery was going to be super long and painful, and if he got it together in a good time frame, he could probably spend more time than he planned to in the AHL and maybe make it to the NHL in a couple of years, as opposed to before when he was on the fast track.

      Then Cam got a staph infection in his leg where they had stitched him up, and he had to have another surgery and a round of heavy meds to clean out the infection. They had no idea where he picked it up, but Cam suspected it was at the physical therapy place. He thankfully didn’t have a concussion, but sometimes he would get a little fuzzy, not that he would ever tell anyone that. It was just set back after set back, and everything was starting to pile up. His mom living with him was a nightmare, but he could barley stand for long periods of time without wanting to sleep for eight hours after, so he guessed her cooking and cleaning the apartment wasn’t all bad.

 

      He healed, but it wasn’t the same. He couldn’t play at the level he need to, and when he got the call from management telling him that he was being released he really wasn’t all that surprised. When he finally gently nudged his mom back to her own house with the rest of his family, Cam allowed himself time to wallow in his own misery. And oh did he wallow. As soon as he was off his pain meds Cam cracked open his liquor cabinet and went for the good stuff. There was no point in saving it for a rainy day, this was the rainiest day Cam had ever had, and he was going to drink good whiskey and hate the world for about a week.

      Finally, the good teammate that he was, always looking out for Cam with his big, stupid blue eyes, Boychuk came over and scraped Cam off of his living-room floor, threw a pair of sweatpants at him, turned off the Food Network, took away the Thai take out, and told him to get his shit together.

      “Dude. I gave you your week to be miserable, but time’s up. You’ve got to get back on your feet. You drank, you ate like shit, you most defiantly haven’t worked out properly, so you need to figure out something, otherwise I’m calling your mom,” Johnny meant business.

      “What am I supposed to do? Get a real job and join a men’s league? I don’t know how to do anything real except play hockey. Shit, Johnny I never even went to college before I got drafted!” Cam was still a little buzzed, but slowly sobering as all of this real-life stuff was hitting him.

      “That’s why I came over here, you dickbag. Put on some clothes besides boxers, and go take a shower. You smell like a frat house.”

 

      So Cam showered and he and Johnny picked at some fruit salad (on Johnny’s approved diet, of course. The one that Cam really didn’t have to follow anymore, but he went along with it for Johnny’s benefit) and Johnny presented his idea.

      “Alright dude, I came over here with good news for both of us.”

      “You got the Checks to resign me?”

      “Don’t even go there,” Cam frowned into his strawberries Johnny’s immediate shut down. “First let’s talk about me. Colorado signed me for next season, like to the Avalanche,” he was grinning from ear to ear.

      “So you’re leaving?” Cam was bewildered. First, he lost his career, and now his best friend was moving across the country. What could possibly happen next?

      Cam’s mouth was agape as if somebody has smacked him. “Yes, now shut your trap, be happy for me, and let me tell you your good news now,” Johnny continued. “My uncle is the equipment manager for the Canes.”

      “Yeah, I already knew that. You talk about it all the time. What’s your point here, Johnny?” Cam was annoyed. Johnny was leaving him and now he’s throwing his family’s weird hockey success in Cam’s face too.

      “So, he’s retiring in a month or two, and needs somebody to take over for him. He needs, somebody who knows anything and everything about hockey…somebody who’s played before and understands the responsibility and importance of good equipment. And he asked me if I knew anybody. I may have mentioned your name, and he may have emailed me today, telling you to give him a call.”

      “…You got me a job?” Cam asked carefully, surprised that Johnny did all this for him. Then again, he shouldn’t be. Johnny has always been the most giving person Cam has ever met. “I, uh, I don’t know man. This all seems a little– ” Cam trailed off.

      “I mean, if you want it. You’d have to interview and stuff, but it’s all really just formalities. It’s a great opportunity. Don’t you get it, Cam? You can be a part of the NHL now. You might not be able to play, but you can still have hockey in a little way. You won’t have to worry about contracts and diets and work outs, and you’ll get to be in the Show with the Canes!” Johnny made it sound so enticing, but there was still one big knife in Cam’s gut about all of this.

      “But Johnny, I won’t be playing. I don’t know if I can take that, being in the NHL, on the plane and the bus, at breakfast and in the hotel with the team, but never getting to be out on the ice. It might kill me, man.”

      “Well, unless you’ve got a better idea that doesn’t involve more whiskey and complaining, you should probably call my uncle Jay, because as of right now, he’s the best option you’ve got, man.” Johnny slid Cam the phone number across the table and strutted toward the door, closing it carefully behind himself.

 

      Cam sat at his kitchen table for over an hour, mulling over his fruit salad, holding the blue sticky note with Jay Boychuk’s number on it in his hand. He considered calling his dad, and then his mom, but decided against it. He was a grown adult, damn it, he could make a life decision without consulting his parents. Finally, he gave up and dialed the number.

 

      “This is Jay!” A man’s baritone voice answered cheerfully.

      “Hi, Jay. It’s Cam Ward, Johnny’s friend from the Checkers. I heard you needed a guy who knows a lot about hockey for an equipment manager job.” Cam tried to sound enthusiastic, but he felt more desperate than anything else.

      “Well, I’m glad you called. I was just about to tell Johnny that he better get his friend moving on this before the organization hires somebody else.  Can you come in on Friday for an interview?”

      “Friday sounds good.”

      “Alright, come by around noon, and we can have an hour before the guys come in for optional skate at one. That work for you?”

       Cam couldn’t quite place the background noise, until he heard a voice yell, “Jay! You’re the best man! See you tomorrow!” Jay covered the mouthpiece of his phone and shouted, “You too, Stallsy! Have a good one!” before Cam could stutter a, “Yeah, that works. Thanks again!”

      “I’ll let management know you’re coming so they don’t go and hire some dimwitted no-knowledge type. See you Friday, kid.” With that, Cam exchanged pleasantries and hung up.

 

      Holding his cell phone, wondering what can of worms he just opened up for himself mentally, Cam scrubbed his face with his hands and scratched his head. It was only then that Cam realized the person he heard talking to Jay in the background of the phone call was the guy he had played with for years in before he got bumped up, the guy who everybody knew would be the Canes captain one day: Eric Staal.

      He called his mom, “Hey, ma. I think I just got a job in the NHL.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric tries to befriend Cam, and Cam is a little weirded out at first, but eventually gives in. Oh and there are emotion moments with Jay.

Cam’s first day was strange. He was at an NHL rink, for an NHL game, for his job, and he was seeing all of the things he was vaguely aware were always done before a game, but had never actually seen. And he wasn’t playing, or training or visiting. It was strange. Especially when Eric Staal showed up. He was strange.

 

As time went on, everything got less strange, except for Staal. The guys on the team were almost as cheerful to him as Jay was, and now that he was dubbed “Wardo,” it was almost like being on a real team again. Almost. Thankfully, none of his old teammates, or even just guys he’d known for a hot second, commented on his injury and fall out of playing. They knew how to respect a downfall: you just left it alone, and let a guy deal with it himself. It did feel nice to be around positive people again: guys giving him playful shoves and chirps, everybody finally stopped thinking he was too fragile. Cam was refusing to be fragile.

 

“Hey, Cam,” Eric still called him Cam, usually. Staal came up to him holding his stick in his hand, nothing on but a pair of compression shorts on and some socks. “Could you help me with this? I just can’t get it quite right,” Eric sighed, gesturing to his stick.

“Yeah, man, of course. What do you need?”

Cam fixed Eric’s stick for him and then Eric was slapping Cam on the shoulder and saying, “I’ll see you later, Wardo? The guys are coming back to my place tonight after the game. Off day tomorrow…you should come,” and then Eric was flitting away to get ready for morning skate. _So weird._

Was Eric only inviting Cam because he felt bad for him? Why else would he invite their new equipment manager? Cam didn’t want Eric’s pity. He didn’t want anybody’s pity. He didn’t _need_ their pity. He was doing fine for himself, thanks. He may not have had a pretty, above-entry-level contract like Staal, but he was still involved in hockey, and that’s all that mattered. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

 

After all was said and done, and morning skate was over, Jay handed his keys to Cam.

“Jay, uhh, these are yours,” Cam said, feeling like an idiot.

“I know, kid. This is my last game here in Carolina. As of tomorrow, I’m officially retired. They're yours now.”

“Shit, Jay. I can’t take your keys. They have your friggin’ initials on the ring!” Cam protested. That actually had nothing to do with it, but in all reality, Cam didn’t want Jay’s keys, because that meant that Jay was leaving for real.

Cam was sort of just floating right now. He had the job, and he had hockey, sort of, with the job, but that was all he had. Cam went home to his empty apartment every night and didn’t really talk to any of his old friends from the Checkers, except Johnny, who he could sometimes barley even stomach. Johnny was just so happy with hockey, just like all of his other friends, and most days that was fine. But, on others, Cam just couldn’t swallow it.

Jay was keeping Cam afloat. He was like a crazy uncle, and somewhat of a father figure to Cam. They spent nearly every waking hour together on game or practice days, and had a lot of time to talk about everything. They usually even grabbed beers after a game, either at the same bar as the guys or alone. Conversation flowed naturally with Jay, and as of recently he was the closest thing Cam had to a friend. And now he was leaving. Cam swallowed hard.

“Don’t you dare, kid. I refuse to get emotional about this. I’ve been here for 20 years. I’ve seen the game change, I’ve seen guys blow in and out of this team, and I’ve met some great people while I was here. You are one of my favorite people I’ve met, but I will not hesitate to whack you with one of LaRose’s sticks,” Jay pointed over his shoulder at the neatly organized rack of wood. “Now get your shit together, I want to see you run it tonight. I’ll help, but mostly just watch. You can do this, kid.”

“Fuck you, Jay. Fine. I’m just going to miss you man,” Cam replied.

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

 

            The game went really well. Cam didn’t really screw up at all, but he was so nervous at first he almost handed LaRose one of Staal’s sticks when LaRose shattered his third of the season, but after that, he settled into the comfortable routine. _I can do this. I can do this and be happy. It’s like getting paid to be a hockey expert. I can do this._ Jay tapped Cam on the shoulder at the end of the game, “You did good, Cam. I’ll be around Raleigh for a while, give me a call if you need somethin’.”

            “Thanks, Jay. We’ll go out for a beer or something soon, yeah?”

            “Yeah. Take care, kid.” And with that, Cam’s only real friend in Raleigh patted him on the back, and walked out the back door of the PNC Arena.

            “Hey, Cam,” Eric tapped his shoulder. Eric _would_ appear just as Cam was feeling sorry for himself. That’s when Eric always seemed to pop up. “We’re all heading out to Boylston Bridge, you wanna come?” _Eric inviting me to the bar? Maybe I should say ‘yes’ this time. I don’t want him to think I don’t like him. Why do I care if he thinks I like him? Whatever, I need a drink._

            “I, uh,” Cam stuttered, “Yeah. Sounds good.”

            “Meet us there at 10!” Eric shouted as he turned to talk to one of the guys. As he exited the PNC, Cam heard somebody shout, “Wado’s coming tonight!” in the distance. _Well, can’t back out now._

 

            Cam walked into the bar that the Canes frequented, and spotted them overflowing from two large half-booth-half-tables in the back. _Why does this feel like walking into the first day of high school all over again?_ _Relax, Cam, you’re just at the fucking bar with friends. Jesus Christ. Are they my friends? Well, I guess they’ll have to be, I don’t really have anybody else. Maybe I should call Johnny tonight, ah but what if he’s on the road? I don’t know what the time difference would be. Jesus they’re all looking at me, I should probably say hi._

            “Hey, guys,” Cam choked out. He was greeted by a chorus of “Ay, Wardo!” along with Eric smiling lightly and mumbling, “Hey, Cam. What’s up?” Cam slid into the booth and smiled back at Eric.

            “I’m glad you came,” Eric smiled, “you never hang out with us much,”

            _Don’t be awkward, Cam, he’s just trying to say something nice and get you to act like less of a douche. Just be normal!_ “Yeah, uh, me too. I’ve just been trying to get my shit together, ya know?” The guys must have taken that as an “it’s a post-injury-thing” code and let it go immediately. Cam was thankful, like, _really_ thankful. Sometimes it was nice to be around people who understood, who didn’t push him. His family kept trying to push him after his injury, and his mom even went as far as to suggest a sports psychiatrist. _That_ was the biggest line of shit Cam had ever heard. He did _not_ need help. He was fine and the guys clearly understood. He was just fine.

            “Wardo?” somebody asked.

            “Yeah, sorry, just zoned out for a second,” Cam recovered. “I’m good.” He sipped his beer carefully, attempting not to spill it all over himself and Eric. They were slammed together pretty tight in the booth, more guys pushing in to join the debate over who the cover of next year’s NHL video game should be.

            “Fuck Crosby! He’s been on the cover of everything since, like, the day he was born,” Cam added in. The guys all laughed and agreed, and finally, _finally_ , Cam was starting to settle into this new role, whatever it was.

 

            A few hours and more than a few beers later, Cam was drunk. Okay, so maybe he was bordering on very drunk, but it was a good drunk. He was happy, laughing and talking with the horde of guys at the table, and it was fun. It was nothing like the depressed drinking he did after the Checkers released him.

            “Hey, Cam, dude, I’ve got a question” Eric came swaying back over from the bar. _Isn’t the captain supposed to be the responsible one and not drink as much as the rest of us?_ Then again, looking around, Eric may have been the second most sober person in the room, the first being the bar tender. Cam turned toward where Staal was once again plastered against his side, smelling like winter lager beer and some delicious, cool aftershave.

            “Shoot,” Cam smiled, feeling increasingly comfortable around Staal now that he had his fair share of beer.

            “You’re still a pretty good goalie, right? I mean I’ve seen you practice after you think we all leave, man. I’ve seen Jay take shots at you, and watched you block every single one while Jay bitches that he’s too old and tired to do more,” Eric annunciates his words the way that drunk-people-who-are-pretending-they’re-not-that-drunk always do.

            _Shit fuck._ Cam always thought everybody was gone when he and Jay used to practice.

…

            _“Damn, it Cam. You haven’t missed a single shot of mine in days. Why don’t you ask one of the guys to shoot at you? Their shots will be way better and more realistic than mine.”_

_“Just a few more, Jay. I need to stay in shape. No use getting fat. Then I’ll end up cranky and useless, like you.”_

_“Well I’ll show you how good Cranky’s slap shot is. Maybe that will shut you up!” Cam was lucky Jay loved him like a son, because he actually did have a pretty mean slap shot, and they were hurdling at Cam rapid fire at the moment._

_“Alright, I think we can be done now. Are you done trying to put a hole in my pads?”_

_“Are you done trying to prove something to yourself?”_

_“Never.”_

_“Well, I’m too old to beat you up more, today. Until next time, kid?”_

_“Yeah, Jay. Until next time.” They fist bumped and skated toward the locker room._

…

            “Cam? Wardo, you okay?” Staal jabbed at Cam’s shoulder and asked.

            “Yeah dude, sorry spaced out. I must be getting tired, hah,” Cam’s attempt at humor clearly wasn’t working with Staal, who just looked all captainly and concerned for Cam’s health. Cam changed the subject before he got a lecture, “Yeah, I, uhm, I’m kind of in the market for a new practice partner since Jay retired.”

            “Well, that’s what I’ve been wanting to talk to you about! My brother, Jordan, kinda needs some extra practice. He’s gunna be in the NHL soon and I said he needs to get some more shots on goal with a real goalie otherwise he’s screwed and won’t ever get a point. You think you could help us out on a few off days some time?” Eric was beaming with his stupidly charming smile, and Cam couldn’t resist. Eric and the guys were being so nice to him, welcoming him, it was almost like he was a part of the team again. It was like he belonged to something. It was like he had hockey again, in the real way, not the fake way he’d been holding onto it before. It was great, and he wasn’t ready to let go of his ‘real hockey’ moment just yet so he said, “Yeah, dude. Just text me and let me know! I’m always around the rink anyway!” to Eric as they clumsily exchanged numbers. _So I’m going to practice with Eric Staal and his little brother. Or just Eric? No he said something about Jordan too? So maybe it’s both of them. Whatever I’ll do whatever Eric wants, as long as he keeps smiling at me like that. Wow, I really am drunk._

“Like I said, dude, whatever you need,” Cam looked up at Eric’s dough eyes and realized that Eric Staal was going to be a reoccurring theme in his life. Cam could just tell. _This could get weird._ Then again, how much weirder could it get if Staal was already involved? SO much was the answer; Cam should have known better than to doubt the extent of Eric’s weirdness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is supposed to be slightly confusing due to Cam's drunkenness and confusion about Eric's motives.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a strange night at the bar, Cam and Eric have some interesting thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short :/ Kind of hit a big block and had to erase about 4,000 words I wrote over break to make this go in a better direction.

Eric had a missed text that kept chiming on his phone when he woke up. Bleary eyed and sweat slicked from his too-heavy comforter, he reached toward the nightstand until his loose grip finally clasped his new iPhone. Apparently, he had two texts, one from Jordy, and one from Cam. He opened Jordy’s first, because it was sent this morning.

Jordy: _Hey man, Christmas break is comin’ up. I’ve been hearing some shit about possibly getting picked up by a team soon. Think we could practice a little?_

Eric shot off a quick response: _Sure, man. Mom, Dad, and everyone are coming here for Christmas. I didn’t know if you already had plans for the break, but you’re obvs welcome to come._

Jordan didn’t respond, so he opened the text from Cam in the meantime. It was sent at 2:00 in the morning, which was about the time Eric presumed everybody finally got home.

Wardo: _Thankss for inviting me out, man. You didn’t haveto do that._

There were a fair few spelling mistakes in the text, leading Eric to believe that Cam was still comfortably drunk when he exited the cab in front of his apartment and presumably sent Eric that text.

            Eric replied, despite the fact that it was largely out of context some hours later. _I know, but you’re basically one of the guys now, Wardo. We’re gunna treat you like one. You should hang with us more often._ Was it too captainly? Too pushy? Eric wasn’t sure. Cam didn’t reply immediately, though, so Eric just tossed his phone back on the nightstand and rolled over. 6:30 am was far too early for anybody except for Jordy to be up. It was an off day, anyway.

 

            Cam woke up sweaty, hard, and not even remembering what his sex dream must have entailed, but clearly, it was something exciting. He sighed and wracked his brain, wondering what it could have been, sleepily closing his eyes, and relishing in the still warm spot of his bed. As he let his mind wander, his right hand began to also. Slipping beneath the waistband of his light blue boxers, Cam sighed at the relief of cupping himself; he was actually achingly hard and had no idea how he hadn’t woken up sooner.

            Beginning to get a good rhythm going, his thoughts spread to the night at the bar, how Eric was careful to make sure he was having a good time but not smothering, how warm Eric was all pressed up against Cam’s side; a human furnace. _Why am I thinking about Eric?_ Cam stopped the movement of his hand, and his dick only throbbed with protest. _Okay, I’ll just think about something else. I’ll just think about that chick I brought back here from a few weeks back...what was her name? Carly? Kaylie? Oh who gives, she was hot. But she didn’t really have nice tits. She was really toned and fit though; I must be into that ‘fit’ type. Eric’s really toned…_ the last thought got Cam to thinking about seeing Eric walk around after practice or a game in nothing but his compression shorts and socks, his beautifully curved ass and carved-of-stone upper body gleaming with fresh sweat. _Oh shit._ Cam didn’t stop the thoughts this time; he was too far-gone. They continued to an empty locker room, everybody gone except for Cam, who was cleaning up, and Eric who sat on the bench in front of his stall, naked, save for the towel loosely folded around his waist. “Hey, Cam,” fantasy-Eric sighed heavily. “It’s not your fault. It was just a bad game,” he told fantasy-Eric, wrapping his arm around his naked shoulders. “You look tense, just let it go, man,” Cam’s fantasy continued, and he began to rub at the visible stress-knot in Eric’s right shoulder. The daydream continued on, until Cam was so close to coming that he was taking his breaths in huge gasps and canting his hips off of the bed, fucking up into his own fist and groaning. _Oh. Shit._ Finally, fantasy-Eric groaned lightly out loud and whispered, “ Feels great, Cam. You can go harder, or you know, lower, if you want,” and that was all it took for Cam to shake apart, his orgasm wracking through his body like an overpowering wave, come spurting up his abs and onto his chest. _OH. SHIT._


End file.
